Blood Moon
by MaverickLover2
Summary: On a train headed towards a Blood Moon rising. With a gang of criminals and a beautiful Pinkerton detective. Anything is liable to happen when the Maverick brothers are involved.
1. The Stage is Set

Blood Moon

Chapter 1 – Bart's Story: The Stage is Set

I'm not quite sure what we were doin' on that exact train on that exact day. My brother Bret and me were on our way to Denver; this was our third day of travel and we were somewhere in Colorado, just outside of Colorado Springs. Up to that point it had been a reasonably uneventful trip, but all that was about to change.

My name's Bart – Bartley Jamison Maverick, if you have to know the whole thing - there's only two people in the entire world that I let call me Bartley. And you are not number three. Anyway, Bart Maverick is what I go by, although I've been called a lot of other things in my life. Including things that even I wouldn't repeat in public. My traveling companion was my brother Bret – I know, I know, Breton Joseph Maverick. He's older than me – not by much, mind you, but enough that I can call him 'big brother.' Or what I usually call him, which is 'Pappy.'

Momma died when I was five and Bret practically raised me. Oh, we had a Pappy; still have him, as a matter of fact. But Pappy is a gambler, a poker player by trade, as we are, and Pappy worked most nights and slept most days. So it was up to Bret to make sure I got up and ate and went to school. It was a struggle to get me up in the mornings; my appetite has been almost non-existent my whole life, and I started tryin' to talk my way out of school when I was about ten.

Neither one of us is married or seriously entangled with any one woman, so we pretty much go where we feel like when we feel like it. Sometimes we're together, sometimes we're not. We've got two cousins out there in the world that we're close to – Beau, another Maverick gambler and more a third brother than anything, and Jody, who runs a gambling hall (first class, I'll have you know) that we all own a piece of in Silver Creek, Montana.

Beau is Uncle Bentley's son, named after his older brother and our father, Beauregard Jefferson Maverick. Junior's full name is Beauregard Jackson Maverick, but everyone just calls him Beau. We came by Jody the long way round, but she's the daughter of the late Jessalyn Bonnie Maverick, Beauregard and Bentley's wild sister who ran away from home at fifteen (to Montana). It's a complicated story, but we didn't know Jody was Jessie's daughter for a long, long time. Ah, I forget. Jody Belinda Maverick. And I didn't intentionally skip him – Bentley Jonathan Maverick – Uncle Ben.

You can put your pen down now, I won't throw any more names at you. I just thought you might wanna know that there's more than just two of us - we're kind of everywhere. Anyway, Bret and I were on our way to Denver and we were sick to death of riding the train – there's only so much poker you can play and only so much sleeping in your seat you can do. And we had no idea that all hell was about to break loose.

There's a little town outside of Colorado Springs called Pueblo City. It's about forty miles south and naturally, the train runs right through it. That's where we picked up the four men that settled in the car Bret and I were in. They looked like ranchers – dressed better than cowhands but not as well as bankers. Nothing unusual about any of them. Average height, average build, somewhere between twenty-five and forty years old. Two of them were smoking cigars, one carrying a tobacco pouch like he was ready to roll a cigarette. Two of them had on single right-handed holsters, one carried a rifle. I couldn't see any guns on the fourth. The cigar smokers were laughing like one of the other two had just told a joke. They settled into seats across from each other at the front of the car and talked low among themselves. If anybody else got on, they boarded a different part of the train.

Bret and I were playing poker and he was dealing, so I was concentrating on what he'd dealt himself. See, we're both pretty good poker players. That would kinda make sense since that's what we do for a living. So the standing rule between us (and Cousin Beau) is that whoever deals gets to cheat. The fun part of the game becomes can we figure out what kind of hand the dealer holds. I had a full house, Aces over eights (Bret has a peculiar sense of humor), so I was figuring he had four Kings. I was just about to call my dear old brother when I caught a flash of light on something I hadn't seen before - a knife big enough to gut a steer with. And it was in the right hand of the man that I hadn't spotted a gun on.

"Joseph," I warned. Whenever we use our middle names, it's a signal that something's wrong, or at least peculiar.

"I saw it, Jamison," he answered. I set my cards down on the table and Bret did the same, both of us beginning to reach for our guns. Just as my fingertips touched the top of the grip the back door of the car opened and in walked one of the most beautiful creatures God ever saw fit to create. I wasn't the only one that thought so. Bret's mouth fell open and all four of our fellow travelers turned to watch. She was tall, just a couple inches shorter than me, with long, flame-red hair and show-stopping blue eyes. The kind men talk about but you never actually see.

She had on a black Stetson hat with a blue and silver hatband and black gamblers clothes, with a long frock coat and a blue silk chemise cut down low that clung to her like a second skin The clothes fit her perfectly like they were made especially for her.

It was difficult not to stare, and I did just that. Beautiful women will always take precedence over potential trouble, particularly when the trouble is staring, just like you are. It gave me a chance to take a good look at our new friends, and I caught the gleam of a derringer under the coat of the hombre with the knife. And the man that had carried in the rifle wore a shoulder holster under his. I could see the outline clearly from the way he'd turned to look at the woman. It didn't take much to figure out that our ranchers were anything but.

"Joseph?" I asked again.

"Hmmmm?" was the response I got.

"Pappy?" That got his attention.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"We're all very well-armed."

"I see that. I don't suppose we're going to Colorado Springs to buy cattle?"

"Don't think so. Does this train carry a gold shipment or somethin'?"

"Maybe. Maybe payroll for the miners?"

"They're after somethin' bigger than what they can get off the passengers, that's for sure."

Bret looked like he was thinking, but he was really staring at our lady friend again. "Anybody on here goin' to the Federal Prison in Denver?"

Now that was a good question. I tried to remember if I'd seen anybody get on in handcuffs or leg irons, but if they had it was at the other end of the train. Out of sheer boredom I'd read a paper that morning, and I thought back to what I'd read; something I'd not paid any attention to at the time but might explain a lot now. Charlie Daggett had been tried and convicted in Kansas and was going to the prison outside of Denver. Was he on the train? Entirely possible.

And then it came to me. There was a payroll on this train, actually two payrolls. One for the miners still manning the last remnants of the gold fields on the north side of Denver; the other for the remaining railroad workers finishing up the spur lines in or near the city. Put that together with the possibility of Charlie Daggett on the train and we had more potential trouble than either of us wanted to think about. What if our 'ranchers' were after the payrolls? Or Charlie Daggett? Or both?

And just who was this mysterious creature that had ventured into our particular railroad car? No genteel, 'proper' little lady, I could guarantee that from the way she was dressed and the way she carried herself. She seemed to be the wild card, and I didn't know if this trip was gonna prove fascinating or fatal.


	2. A Different Perspective

Chapter 2 – Bret's Story: A Different Perspective

Like Brother Bart said, we were on our way to Denver. Why? Why not? I'd come from San Francisco, via Albuquerque (it's a long story), he'd been in Fort Worth. San Francisco is beautiful; full of culture and flirtatious women and lots of middlin' to bad poker players. Of which I'd taken full advantage. The poker players, too.

Pueblo City is a dirty little hole in the wall and it did nothin' to change my opinion when our pretend cattlemen got on. Bart probably thinks I wasn't payin' attention, but I was. The youngest one a the bunch was maybe twenty-four, twenty-five, with curly hair and a scar under his left eye that looked like it'd hurt somethin' fierce when it was created. Had what was once an ugly bruise on his right cheekbone an was not on good terms with the rest of the world.

The second one in was smokin' a cigar that smelled God-awful. Now, I like a good cigar as much as the next man, but this thing stank to high heaven. I've been on trail drives that smelled better. Once I got past the smell I noticed two things – he was missin' part a the pinky finger on his left hand, and the gun belt an holster he was wearin' on his right side looked fairly new.

The third man in resembled an older version of the first one, without the scar and the bruise. He had a cigar, too, but you could tell it was a better stogie than the other one. He was thirty or so, without what I assumed to be his brother's curly hair and with a wicked grin plastered across his face. He was carryin' a rifle like it was his best friend in the whole world and I didn't wanna be the man that came between him an his gun.

The last one was the oldest and was some kinda relative of the two that I guessed to be brothers. Maybe a cousin, maybe not. No tellin' with relatives these days. You can look at me an Bart and see somethin' that marks us as Mavericks, but there's no Maverick stamp on Beau at all. Yet we've all got the same mannerisms, especially when we're playin' poker. Like I said, no tellin' with relatives. He didn't have on a gun belt but there was a familiar lookin' bulge under his left shoulder. I wore a hideout gun for quite a while; now Bart wears one.

Somebody'd said somethin' funny on the way into the car, and the two cigar smokers were laughin'. The oldest one looked our way an did a quick once-over, I could just imagine him thinkin' we wouldn't be much trouble. He was probably right, but I resented the assumption anyway. I looked down at the cards I'd just dealt myself and almost smiled. Four beautiful little ladies and one rascally knave to keep 'em company. Then I saw somethin' that made me catch my breath, an there's not much that does that anymore.

The woman that walked in was no ordinary female. Drop-dead gorgeous and well aware of the fact, she was built like there was no tomorrow. And I'm sure for some there wasn't. More interestin' than her looks even was the way she dressed. She seemed like somebody's idea of an outlaw woman – head to toe in black, save for that silky blue thing she wore instead of a shirt. Her eyes were the same color, and the blue thing matched them, deliberately, I'm sure. Nobody dressed like that by accident.

There was somethin' unexpected about her. She moved like she knew how to defend herself – like a big gray wolf or a panther moves. Dangerous, confident, arrogant, all wrapped up in pure female silkiness. The most startling thing of all – low-slung on her right hip she wore a gun holster that held a well-worn Remington Colt in it. This was no ordinary woman who'd stumbled into our car by accident.

Bart interrupted my reverie – Ah, speculation – about the newest member of our little group with a well-timed warning about the four "ranchers" that had joined us in Pueblo City. He'd spotted what I had, the extra guns and the knife – good God almighty, the knife. You could slip that thing into a man and run from stem to stern without any effort at all. Then I could see he was thinkin' about somethin', probably somethin' he'd read, and he turned to me with the look a sour apples on his face.

"Daggett," he whispered, and I tried to figure out what he was tellin' me. It came slow, but when it came it was like a runaway stage. Charlie Daggett was on his way to Federal prison, the one in Northern Denver. Oh boy. Charlie Daggett was a Confederate Officer, who just decided the war should keep on goin' long after he'd run outta Yankees to kill. So he turned his considerable anger on innocent settlers and hard-workin' folk until he got caught robbin' a bank in Kansas and killin' three people inside the place. There were two full brothers and a half-brother in his gang, along with two of his men from the army. If I was right, that'd account for the four sittin' in our train car.

Just as I was digestin' this information, Brother Bart reminded me of the Pinkerton guards we'd watched load the payroll into the money car towards the rear of the train. How did we pick 'em? And, as usual, there was nobody to blame but ourselves for us bein' on this train and not the one that left Albuquerque a day earlier. See, I was right in the middle of a winnin' streak, and I wasn't leavin' while I was winnin'. By the time I was ready to go Bart's own luck had turned the right way. So we waited another day and took the train we were on, and I headed to Denver with four thousand dollars more than I'd had a mere twenty-four hours earlier. Bart wouldn't say how much ahead he was, but I saw the bulge his wallet made when he slipped it inside his coat.

Here we sat, on a train bound for Denver, right in the middle of what? A jailbreak? A robbery? Both? Or were our imaginations running away with us again? And what about our mystery lady? Was she an innocent bystander or a pawn in the game we were playing? Maybe this really was chess, and she was the Queen. And if that was true, was she the Black Queen, or the White Queen?


	3. Pullin' the Wool

Chapter 3 – Bret's Story: Pullin' the Wool

The Queen picked a seat midway between ours and the cattle barons and began to read the newspaper that an earlier passenger left there. Brother Bart cleared his throat, which meant he was contemplating how to approach her, and for some reason this was one time I wasn't gonna let him get the jump on me. So in my typical laid back manner I sprang to my feet and walked over to where she was, then slid into the seat next to her.

"Your newspaper's upside down," I told her, and ignored the unpleasant and disrespectful noise my brother made.

She smirked and folded the paper in her lap. "Good thing you noticed it before our friends did," she remarked in a voice meant only for my ears.

"They're too busy admirin' their weapons," I told her with a smile.

"Are you Daugherty or Sampson?" she asked.

Oh, no. I'd been through this once before, when I was mistaken for a gun runner named Geoff Radson in Texas, and Bart was assumed to be his brother Henry. It had gotten Bart kidnapped and almost killed when we tried to help the Texas Rangers and Bart took a bullet meant for me. I wasn't doin' this again. "Neither one," I told her. "The name's Maverick. Bret Maverick. That's my brother Bart over on the other side of the car making strangled noises." I pointed him out to her. "Sorry to disappoint you. Who are Sampson and Daugherty, anyway?"

I could feel her stiffen slightly, but her voice and manner never faltered. "The men I was supposed to meet on the train," she answered as she extended her hand. "I'm Ginny Malone. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Maverick."

"Ah," I answered, as I kissed the back of her hand. I wasn't shakin' hands with anybody that looked like Ginny Malone. "I can be whichever one you'd like me to be."

She was no longer smirking, but looking rather serious. "I wish you could."

"The two Federal agents that got pulled off the train in Pueblo City?"

"Did I say they were Federal agents?"

Ginny Malone was quick, I'll say that. "Nope, but that's what they were, and that's where they went. You a Fed, too?"

"No," she answered, and that was all she said.

"Marshal, Sheriff, Ranger?" I persisted.

She shook her head.

"Alright, I give up."

"Pinkerton."

I was suitably impressed. Pinkerton didn't hire just anybody. They had some real strict requirements. That means I was right; she knew how to defend herself. "They were your contacts?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Damn Feds, can't even keep an appointment."

"So Daggett's on the train?"

"I didn't say that either," she answered. Then she sat back and took a real good look at me. "Who are you?"

I grinned at her. I couldn't help it. I'd already told her the truth, but that didn't seem to be helping any. "I told you. Bret Maverick. Sampson and Daugherty couldn't make it."

She breathed what I could only interpret as a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I was not looking forward to doing this alone."

"Keepin' them," I indicated the four up front, "from breakin' Daggett loose?"

"And takin' the payrolls with 'em."

So what choice did I have? Let Ginny Malone take on what seemed to be left of Daggett's gang, or play substitute Federal Marshal? One gun, and a female one at that, against the four sittin' up front, armed to the teeth? And watch somebody that looked like that get killed, very possibly with Bart and me endin' up as fodder in the ensuing battle that was no doubt waitin' in the wings? See, I'm not that big a coward. To run when somebody needed help? And what was Bart gonna do? My brother, the man who single-handedly tried to rescue every damsel in distress that he ran across? This was what's known as a no-brainer.

"Better go tell Bart what's up."

"Is he really your brother?" Ginny asked.

"Yep, ever since he was born."

"Isn't that unusual? To have brothers working together?"

I shrugged. "We don't always work together. This was . . .last minute."

"What happened to Sampson and Daugherty?"

"Don't know." That part was true. "Just know they got uh . . . called back at the last minute."

That was a good question. What had happened to the two Feds that I'd seen walk into the ticket office in Pueblo City and not walk back out? Why had Ginny been left completely alone to do her job? Questions I couldn't answer.

"You don't look like a Federal Marshall."

"An you don't look like a Pinkerton agent."

"Touché." She took it good-naturedly, even if she was right. We looked like . . . . . . well, like prosperous, well-heeled businessmen. Or fancy-assed gunslingers. Or successful gamblers. Or brain-addled idiots, which is the choice Bart voted for. Course, by that time it was too late to acknowledge we were anything but Federal Marshalls. And this time when we played pretend I was determined my brother wasn't gonna take a bullet for me.


	4. The Jones Boys

Chapter 4 – Bart's Story: The Jones Boys

Who can you trust when you can't trust your own brother? That was the question that I needed an answer to, and I needed it in a hurry. While I was trying to figure out what our four friends were up to, Bret was scurrying over to God's greatest creation like the skunk he can be on occasion and filling her head full of . . . . . hell, I don't know what he was filling her head full of. I sat there and watched him sweet-talk her for a few minutes, then I went back to paying attention to the boys up front and started a game of Maverick Solitaire. Apparently our poker game was finished; just as well since Bret would have won anyway.

Bret and the girl laughed and chatted; she looked serious there for a minute. God only knows what he was telling her. Our four friends got a bit louder; every once in a while I could hear a word or two. Much as I wanted to know what kind of tall tales Bret was spinning, I thought it better to pay close attention to our phony ranchers. I heard "Charlie" and "free" once or twice, though not in the same breath. The only full sentence I heard was from the youngest of the bunch, and it was, "We better hope the explosion don't kill him." Sounded like they were gonna blow up whatever car Daggett was being held prisoner in. That did not bode well for the rest of the train or the people on it. Especially us.

Just as I was beginning to think the best thing we could do was get off in Colorado Springs and catch the next train, Bret excused himself from Beauty's presence and headed back my way. I'd think she'd sent him packing except for the slightly lopsided grin plastered all over his face. Until he glanced in my direction and saw the worry on mine.

"The boys?" he asked when he sat down.

"Yep. They're fixin' to blow up somethin'. Sounds like Daggett's here alright."

"He is," Bret answered. "Her name's Ginny Malone an she's Pinkerton. She thinks we're Federal Marshals sent to help her prevent it."

I started to say something in protest and he held up a hand. "I know, I know. Laredo all over again. Except it's not. She knows our names, an she needs our help." He went on to explain the whole situation and much as I didn't like it I had to agree with him. We couldn't let her battle those odds by herself. It just wouldn't be right. So I sighed and nodded my head. Bret and Bart Maverick, Federal Marshals. I don't know whether Pappy would die or just kill us, after what we all went through in Laredo.

That was beside the point now. "So what's next?" I questioned.

"You in?" As if he had to ask.

"You oughta know I am."

"I'm goin' back to tell her what you heard."

I started to say, "Don't you think I oughta tell her myself?" but he was already gone. Big Brother can move fast when he wants to.

Much to my surprise, he didn't sit down with her; she followed him back to our seats. I stood and tipped my hat, offering her the spot next to me (of course). She offered her hand to shake and I took it and accommodated her. I've never shaken anybody's hand that looked like that before. Her hand didn't feel soft and tender, but rather firm and strong. I have to admit my fascination with this new breed of Pinkerton agent.

Her voice was low and conspiratorial, and I strained to hear her. "Glad to meet you, Bart. Bret told me what Cafferty said about the explosion. Anything else since then?"

I shook my head. "Nothin' of any substance. Cafferty seems to be the only one doin' any talkin' over there."

"Doesn't surprise me," she answered. "He may be the youngest, but he's the de facto leader with Charlie out of commission."

I took a guess, but it was a pretty sure bet. "And his brothers? They let him?"

"Jake doesn't say much. He takes a back seat to Cafferty. Since he's only a half-brother, I guess. Neal steps in only when Cafferty gets – shall we say – a little outta control."

"Ya suppose that's where the bruise came from?" Bret asked.

"Probably," Ginny nodded. "And Sam doesn't have a dog in this fight, bein' as he's only an enlisted man."

"Cafferty," I repeated. "Kind of an unusual name, isn't it?"

Miss Malone laughed a little, quietly. "The story goes that Cafferty was the name of the fella that saved Mama Jones from the Indians when the wagon train her and the family was in got attacked. Lost her husband but saved Neal an her; when the baby was born she named him Cafferty."

"Where'd Jake come from?" Bret was as curious as I was about the older Jones boy.

Another chuckle from our Pinkerton agent. "Youthful indiscretion by the ole man before he met Mama."

"Mama got a name?"

"Terra Sue. Part Comanche, some say. Still alive, livin' in Mexico, waitin' for her boys to come home."

Interesting tale, but there was more that Ginny hadn't told us. "How'd they hook up with Daggett?"

"Now that's a story," the agent continued. "Daggett was in Mexico tryin' to steal horses when he came across the Jones boys, all three of 'em. By that time Jake had found his Pa's family and pretty well hooked up with 'em. Daggett left with two fresh horses and three Jones boys in tow."

"Lovely family," my brother remarked.

"Ain't that the truth," I agreed.

Before we could get any further, the train pulled into the station in Colorado Springs and something changed. Up to now the Jones boys had been reasonably quiet, with the occasional loud word, as I said before. Suddenly all four of them fell dead still and unusually attentive to what was going on outside, which seemed to be nothing more than normal activity at a train depot.

Two more men approached the car we were in and climbed on board. One was several inches taller than the other, but again they had that 'related to each other' look. Garrett seemed to have a particular affinity for gang members with familial connections. Some misplaced sense of loyalty, perhaps?

The two newcomers were different. Where our 'ranchers' could have passed for just that, the two newest additions were obviously hard-core gunslingers. And I recognized the shorter one from a 'Wanted' poster I'd seen while I 'visited' the sheriff in Fort Worth. His name was Victor Threadway, and he was wanted for murders he'd committed robbing a stage somewhere in northern Texas. Rumor was Threadway had a brother named Mitchell who was even more of a snake than he was. I'm usually pretty good at keepin' a poker face, but these two surprised me and I reacted almost imperceptibly. Ginny was a sharp gal and she caught the shift in my demeanor. "Know those two?" she asked, and I gave a brief nod.

"Victor and Mitchell Threadway. Victor's wanted for murder in Texas. I ain't sure about Mitchell. But he's the meaner of the two, so somebody's after him somewhere." Just as I finished my information the train started up again.

Bret spoke up about then, and bless his little heart, he knew more about the tall one. "Mitchell's real handy with explosives. Blew up a bank in San Francisco and got away with over forty thousand dollars couple years ago."

Now that had me curious. How had Brother Bret come across that particular piece of information, and why did he remember it?

"That's their demolitions man," Ginny offered as the Threadway brothers took seats right behind the other four. "Wonder how far outta town we're gonna be before they try to spring Daggett?"

Cafferty turned in his seat and started an intense discussion with Mitchell Threadway; I didn't think we were gonna hafta wait too long to find out. "I think we better have a plan," I suggested before anybody else could.


	5. Blood Moon Rises

Chapter 5 – Bret's Story: Blood Moon Rises

Well, he took it better than I probably would have. After all, Bart had every reason in the world to get off the train in Colorado Springs and tell me I was on my own. I was the one that had gotten us into the mess in Laredo, and he was the one that got hurt. Almost lost him, as a matter of fact. So I was relieved when he went along with my plan to help Ginny Malone out of the jam she'd been put in.

I was surprised he'd known who Victor Threadway was. Either Brother Bart has been moonlightin' as a lawman in one burg or another or he's been inside a jail recently. And I don't mean for a chat with the sheriff. As for me and Mitchell Threadway – I happened to be in the bank in San Francisco that got blown up. Well not me actually, my money. One of the few times I actually put money in a bank for safekeeping. Wave good-bye to the nice money as it leaves with the demolitions expert. Remind me not to do that again. Until I'm older.

"Where's Daggett?" I finally asked.

"Two cars back," Ginny answered, and I figured we had trouble. I could see from Bart's eyes he had the same thought. Two cars away was not enough protection if Mitch Threadway was bein' his normal 'let's blow up everything' self. That's probably what Cafferty meant when he said "we better hope the explosion don't kill him."

Here was the first question – had the dynamite already been rigged? If not, how was Mitch gonna manage it? He sure didn't seem to be in any hurry to get outta his seat. And even if it was all set, somebody was gonna hafta go back to the car where the marshals had Daggett to get him out. All this was runnin' through my mind before I asked the next question. "And the payrolls?"

"They're in the same car. They just put Daggett in with the safe. Figured the marshals could do two jobs at once – guard the payrolls and Daggett at the same time." If it was me doin' the blowin' up I'd rig the first car behind the engine; either that or the car directly in front of Daggett's for the explosion. If it was the one between us and Daggett we were all in deep trouble, our friends included. That meant it was probably my first choice, which would bring a grindin' halt to the train's progress, and give our boys the chance to spring their leader.

I glanced over at Bart. I could see the wheels turnin' in his head, too, and when he asked "Second car?" I nodded my agreement.

Ginny gave us a funny look. "English, please?"

I leaned across the empty space between our seats, which faced each other. "We think it's probably gonna be the second car – the first one behind the engine – that they blow. That'll stop the train and give 'em time to get Daggett and the payrolls. And if they're smart they'll do it pretty quick."

Just about the time I finished, Mitch Threadway stood up and crossed to the door that led to the car in front of us. "You know where he's goin'?" Bart asked, and I nodded. "How're we gonna stop him?"

"We're not. Let him blow it. Once he's outta here we got better odds with the rest of 'em. Marshals in the payroll car can handle him. We gotta stop the rest of 'em."

"Five against three?" Ginny asked. "Why not? You boys ready for a fight?"

' _No!'_ my brain screamed, but I just grinned. "Piece a cake," I told her. "You ready?" I asked Bart.

"As I'll ever be," he answered, not the first time I'd gotten that from him.

So we waited for all hell to break loose, and it did in a manner of speakin'. Abruptly, and with a jolt but no explosion, the train ground to a halt. "What happened?" Ginny asked. "What happened to the blast?"

Bart and I looked at each other, both wonderin' the same thing as Ginny – what happened to the explosion? I watched the gang in the front of the car – none of them looked surprised or confused. However they'd managed to stop the train, it hadn't been with dynamite.

Bart was out of his seat and across the aisle to the other side of the car before I had time to do much besides pull my gun. Ginny had pulled hers but kept it low, near her side and outta sight. Bart kept his hands at his sides, away from his gun, all casual like he was just curious, and walked up to the front of the car and the gang we'd been watchin' all day. "Any idea what happened?" he asked any of the men he was now standin' among.

A lot of murmurs and 'no's' greeted his question, and Cafferty finally looked him up and down. "Why? You gotta be someplace?"

"Yeah," Bart answered, soundin' slightly perturbed but nothin' else. "I got a poker game waitin' for me in Denver."

"Gambler?" came the follow-up question.

"Yep," my brother answered.

Neal finally spoke. "Maybe there's somethin' wrong with the engine."

Bart turned to Victor Threadway. "Where'd your friend go?"

"Got a lady friend in the other car," Victor lied.

"Oh yeah?" Bart bluffed his way past that one. "Little blonde about yay tall? Saw her earlier."

"That's her," Victor continued the charade.

Neal reached over and opened the door to see where Mitchell was and that's when we all saw the same thing at the same time – not only had the daylight disappeared and turned into nighttime, what had appeared low in the night sky was what the Lakota called Wé Haŋwí – Blood Moon. The typically bright, full moon had turned almost blood red – a bad sign for sure if you were superstitious. At least one of the gang was - Jake shrank back away from the door, almost as if he'd seen a ghost.

"You sure that's where he went?" Bart questioned.

Even Cafferty seemed a little spooked by the sight. "Yeah, Victor, go find Mitchell. We got things to do."

Victor took the same way out Mitch had and proceeded to the car ahead of us to keep the story of the lady friend intact. Brother Bart headed back towards me an Ginny and the remainin' gang members were payin' too much attention to the Blood Moon to pay any to him.

Almost like a delayed reaction, the anticipated explosion finally rocked the whole train. Everybody not holdin' on to somethin' went down; I saw Bart hit the floor as the shock of the blast washed over everything. Ginny was pushed back into my arms and we both collapsed. That was one time I didn't mind bein' on the bottom of the pile.

I scrambled back to my feet and helped Ginny stand as I saw Bart grab hold of a seat and pull himself up, then hurry back to where we were. "Guess that question's answered," he laughed, but what happened next raised another issue.

It took a few minutes for the remaining gang members to get themselves righted; by the time that was done Victor struggled back through the door with a look on his face that teetered somewhere between shock and dismay. "Can't find Mitch," he relayed, and Cafferty was not pleased.

"Damn it, Jake, Sam, get out there and find him. Now's no time to disappear." They made their way out the door of the car and Ginny turned to me with hope in her eyes.

"You think he blew himself up?"

"One can always hope," Bart remarked before I could say anything. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "I'm goin' to see if Daggett and the Marshals are in one piece."

"Here, take my Pinkerton badge," Ginny offered. "They're not supposed to open the doors to anybody else." She took it from her pocket and gave it to Bart. It wasn't the first time he'd carried a badge, but they used to make him a little anxious.

"Adios," he offered, and slipped out the back door, the way Ginny initially entered.

She laughed a little nervously. "I feel practically naked without it," she told me, and that was the best idea I'd heard all day. Unfortunately I didn't get to dwell on it as long as I would've liked to. My contemplation of just what Agent Malone would look like buck naked was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot, and my thoughts abandoned pleasure for worry. Bart was out there.


	6. Things that go Bump in the Night

Chapter 6 – Bart's Story: Things that go Bump in the Night

Once Bret asked where Daggett was being held and found that he and the payrolls were in the same place, I knew just what Bret was thinkin' – _'Where would I blow the train up if I was Mitchell Threadway?'_ I think we both came to the same conclusion pretty quick – the second car of the train – first car behind the engine. That's the best thing about workin' on somethin' with your brother – we tend to think alike and understand where the other one's comin' from.

After Threadway left to presumably blow up a car and it didn't happen, the train stopped anyway. That's when I scooted across the aisle and up front, to see what kind of a reaction was forthcomin' from the rest of the Daggett gang. Surprisingly, there was none at all, so I played the nosy gambler – not a far stretch, I might add. I started speculation about why the train ground to a halt and Victor and I tossed some nonsense back an forth about Mitch havin' a lady friend in the car in front of us – until another one a the brothers opened the car door and gave us a glimpse outside – and there were some pretty nervous responses when the Lakota Blood Moon showed up in the night sky.

Cafferty wasn't waitin' around – he sent Victor out to find Mitchell. I started back towards Bret and Agent Malone and it was only a minute or two before the dynamite blast finally struck - and it threw most of us to the ground. I hit the floor and twisted around just in time to see Malone go down on top of Bret. I can just imagine the grin on my brother's face as he broke her fall and then got to help her up. Damn, sometimes that boy has all the luck. I grabbed hold of the seat I'd fallen in and pulled myself to my feet, then scrambled on back to them before Bret had a chance to get too grabby.

Victor came back empty handed and Cafferty sent two more out to find Mitch. I had an uneasy feelin' about Daggett and the Marshals and told my two companions that I was goin' back to check on 'em. Malone gave me her badge and I headed out the way she'd originally come in.

Walking outside a train ain't easy even in the daytime, and I had nighttime and the Blood Moon to contend with, so it took a few minutes just to get two cars back. While I was making my way back there I heard a gunshot but had other things on my mind right now to worry about. For example, there was some kind of yelling going on from inside the car, but it got real quiet when I knocked on the door. "Yeah?" came a male voice from inside.

"Pinkerton," I answered, and I could hear a chain moving and the sound of a lock being unlocked, then the side door slid open and I was looking down the barrel of what I recognized as a Winchester.

"Badge and hands in the air," the holder of the rifle ordered, pointing the barrel right at my chest.

"Can't do both at the same time," I replied. "Make your decision."

"Badge," he barked back.

Left hand in the air, I reached inside my coat for the Pinkerton badge Malone had given me.

"Hand it over," Winchester demanded.

"Uh-uh," I told him. "What if you decide to keep it?" Then I gave him my best smile. He wasn't impressed. I set it down on the floor of the car. "Look but don't touch," I instructed.

"Keep it," he answered. "You're Pinkerton. Nobody else is that arrogant."

It comes in handy when you know how to bluff. He gave me a hand and pulled me up the hard way into the car. "Names Bane. You?"

"Maverick," I replied. "You got a partner back here? Besides Daggett, I mean."

From the darkened corner of the car came another voice. "Francis. Jim Francis. You got a first name, Maverick?"

"Bart. Daggett still alive?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bane asked.

"I heard the arguin'."

A short, staccato laugh from Francis. "That was us arguin' about dinner."

"Get it settled?"

"Nope," Bane answered.

"Where is Daggett?" I finally asked.

"Right here," Francis replied, as he walked out into the light. Francis had a man in handcuffs and leg irons in front of him, with a Colt trained right on the prisoner. "May I present Charlie Daggett?"

"Shut up, Francis," Daggett snarled.

"You got a place to put him? We need to talk private."

Francis nodded. "Come on, Daggett, back into the corner with ya."

Bane explained. "Got a ring contraption in the floor. Just have to chain him up to it." A string of expletives filled the air, and Bane shook his head. "He don't like it. Says we're treatin' him like an animal."

I had to laugh at that one. If he'd been tried in Kansas courts and found guilty, he'd a been hung. But because he was tried in Federal court, he'd only been sentenced to life in prison. Two of the people he'd killed in that Kansas bank were a young mother and her three-year-old son. Shot 'em in cold blood. Now who was the animal?

Francis came back out to the far side of the car when he was done with Daggett. "Whatta ya got for us?"

"There's three of us two cars up - my brother an me an another agent. There's four of his gang an two others, Victor and Mitchell Threadway. The demolitions man? Course he's the one that set off the explosion, an he ain't come back to the car yet."

"Who's here from the gang?" Bane asked.

"The Jones boys – Cafferty, Neal an Jake. And his man Sam."

"Don't let Sam fool ya," Francis told me. "He's as mean as Daggett. He don't say much, he lets his gun do the talkin'. Know what the plan is yet?"

I shook my head. "They're still playin' innocent ranchers. All I'm sure of is they want the payrolls and Daggett."

"Who do they think you are?"

"Gamblers," I told him.

Bane wanted to know, "Who's the other agent?"

"Ginny Malone."

"Holy crap," Francis exclaimed. "They sent the big guns for this one. You ever work with Malone before?"

"Nope."

"You ever have to go to war, you want her coverin' your back."

I chuckled a little bit. "I'll remember that. I think my brother'd like to have her coverin' somethin' else."

"Don't let her fool ya. She's tough as nails," Bane pronounced.

"Anything you boys need before I go back?" I asked them.

"Yeah – keep 'em away from back here, would ya?" Francis asked.

"We'll do our best. Lock 'er up, boys."

Bane slid the door closed and I heard the chain and the lock. I sure hope they had everything they needed, because I had no intention of goin' back there again. One encounter with Charlie Daggett was all I planned to have.

I walked up one car and went in the back door, through that car (which was empty of passengers) and out the front door, across the linkage to our car and inside. Cafferty was in the front of the car, where he'd been when I left. He was all alone. Bret and Malone were sitting next to each other talking about something, and he had his arm around her shoulders.

"Playin' sweethearts for Cafferty's benefit?" I asked, a little sarcastically I will admit.

Bret looked up with a grin on his face. "I always said you were a bright boy. We heard the gunshot and I was worried. What'd you find out?"

"The Marshals are fine for the moment. You know 'em, Malone? Bane and Francis."

She smiled – maybe for Cafferty's benefit, maybe for mine. "I know Bane, he's alright. Never met Francis. And Daggett?"

"Not happy about his treatment. Otherwise, fine. What's goin' on here?"

Ginny leaned forward towards me and murmured, "Not sure. Cafferty sent out Jake and Sam before you left. Jake came back without Sam. Then Neal went out by himself. When he didn't come back, Victor and Jake left. Cafferty looks like he's about to develop a nervous twitch. No idea where they all are."

Bret leaned forward. "I told her but she doesn't believe me. You try."

"Not you too?" Ginny asked.

I nodded and Agent Malone rolled her eyes. "Yep, he's right. It's the moon."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. So do the Lakota's. Wé Haŋwí is the bad sign to end all bad signs. When the Blood Moon shows itself, all sorts of unexplainable things begin to happen." Maybe I was thinking too much about the Devils Breath I'd encountered on Lakota Pass, in the Black Hills of South Dakota, but that experience had taught me not to dismiss things just because I didn't understand them.

Ginny was still skeptical and she made a contemptuous face. We all heard something outside and without warning the door opened to admit Jake, Neal, Victor, AND Mitch. "What, no Sam?" I asked.

"Maybe that was the gunshot," Bret suggested.

They all tried to talk at the same time and Cafferty made everybody sit down. He finally spoke loud enough to be heard. "Where the hell were y'all? This ain't gettin' the job done." Then he glanced nervously in our direction and quieted the whole bunch down. Looked like they were done sharing information with us for now.


	7. It Pays to be Pinkerton

Chapter 7 – Bret's Story: It Pays to Be Pinkerton

Ain't never gonna live to be Pappy's age because Brother Bart's gonna worry me to death first. As soon as we heard the gunshot I was ready to jump up an run outside to see who shot my brother, I was that sure that it must've been him that caught the bullet. Ginny grabbed me by the arm an talked logic to me.

"It wasn't your brother," she insisted. "The shot came from in front of us – Bart went the other way."

"You sure?" I asked tensely.

"I'm sure. You always this worried about him?"

I laughed, sort of. "You have no idea what he's been through. Last time I almost lost him it was a bullet meant for me. That'll give ya nightmares."

She looked at me with sympathy. "You really care about him, don't you?"

"Care about him? Hell, I practically raised him. Haven't you heard him call me Pappy?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. Does he really?"

"Swear to God. I don't . . . . never mind."

"Where were your parents?"

I looked at her like she should know the answer to that, forgettin' for a minute that we'd just met earlier that mornin'. Then I remembered – she had no way of knowin' anything I didn't tell her. "Lost Momma when I was seven. Bart was five. Pappy was – is – a gambler. He worked at night and slept during the day." I shrugged. It was no harder than anybody else's life. It just sounded hard.

I think she was gettin' ready to ask more questions when she was distracted by the train car door slammin'. Jake had made it back, without Sam. That was an interestin' development. Cafferty and Jake put their heads together and there was a lot of low-level muttering. Once that stopped Neal went out by himself.

"What do you suppose is going on?" Ginny asked, not really expectin' me to have an answer, but I did.

"You ain't gonna like it," I told her.

"Tell me anyway."

"It's the Blood Moon, that's what's causin' all the weird comin's and goin's."

Ginny didn't even hesitate, just laughed right out loud at me. Or the blood moon, I'm not sure which.

"Don't tell me you believe that! A superstition like that?"

"It's not a superstition, it's the truth. All sorts of strange things happen with the Blood Moon. Just watch that bunch up front and see what they do next." We sat there for maybe ten, fifteen minutes, and watched. Nobody came back, not Sam or Neal. Finally Victor and Jake left together. Cafferty looked as nervous as a cat in a room full a rockin' chairs. Another ten minutes or so passed and Malone turned back to me.

"I will admit, things are quite off. But I still don't think it's the moon. Uh-oh, Cafferty's watching us. Put your arm around me." She didn't have to ask me twice. I put my head next to hers and then leaned down an kissed her, and for just a second there was a flicker in her eyes that I hadn't seen before. "Um, that was nice," she murmured, and I gave it another shot. This time I got a response from her, a little noise of some sort that made me think she was enjoyin' our play actin' just a bit. When we broke apart she observed, "He's not watching anymore."

"That's a real shame," I told her and sat back a little. Bart picked right then to walk back in, and I was glad he hadn't come back any sooner.

"Playin' sweethearts?" he asked with a tone in his voice. I gave him some kinda smart-aleck answer and grinned, then the conversation turned to the Marshals. Ginny explained the turn of events with the gang and that led us back into her doubts about the Blood Moon. We'd almost flogged that to death when all of a sudden Jake, Victor, Neal and Sam came back. Still missin' Mitch. They all took to yammerin' at the same time and Cafferty finally got 'em to sit down and shut up, and kept 'em quiet enough that we couldn't hear 'em anymore.

"Now what?"

"Nothin', until they make a move," Ginny responded.

"Do we know for sure that they actually blew up a train car?" Bart asked.

"We felt the explosion," Ginny reminded him.

"Feelin' an explosion and blowin' somethin' up aren't the same thing," I pointed out.

"So who goes out to check?" Bart wondered.

"I will," Agent Malone answered. She unbuckled her gun belt and slipped it off, pocketing her .45.

I didn't like that idea. What if Mitch was still out there somewhere? What if there was somethin' goin' on that we didn't know about? What if . . . . . . . well, what if?

I kept my mouth shut. Ginny Malone was not the kind of woman you questioned when she'd made her mind up about somethin'. She patted my arm and raised her voice loud enough to be overheard in the front of the car. "I'll be right back, darlin'. I hafta . . . . . .well, you know." Then she bent down an gave me a kiss. An what a kiss it was. I'm sure it was done for the Jones boys' benefit, but I didn't care. That woman kissed good.

Without any warning, Cafferty's voice boomed out. "Where's she goin'?"

I acted like any indignant 'man friend' would. "What business is it of yours?"

Cafferty pulled his Colt and aimed it our way. That put a different spin on things. "Don't make me repeat myself."

I hesitated no longer. "Goin' to do what . . . . you know, we all gotta do," I answered, putting just a little reluctance in my voice. Truth was, I didn't like the show of hostility on Cafferty's part, and I especially didn't like the pointed gun. What if he went after her? Victor said somethin' to him and Cafferty snickered, and put the gun away.

"That's the first real crack in the façade," Bart observed.

He was right; that was the first indication given that they were anything other than innocent ranchers. I still didn't like the fact that Ginny was out there in the dark all alone, with Mitch still missing. With that dang moon glowin' bright red in the sky.

She'd been gone for a good fifteen minutes and I was just about to go lookin' for her when she came back to the car. She put on a good show; actin' like the confused little woman and runnin' back into my arms. "You alright?" I whispered.

"Yes," she answered in my ear as she kissed me, just a peck this time. "I got lost in the dark," she announced loud enough for everyone's benefit.

"Sit down, darlin'," I urged her as Cafferty watched us for a minute. She did and snuggled close, no doubt for his benefit.

"You were right. Whatever they blew up with the dynamite, it wasn't any of the cars. I talked to the engineer – he's just as bewildered as anyone about the train stopping."

Bart and I exchanged glances. "Blood Moon," he mouthed, and I nodded agreement. "They still gotta get in the Marshals' car to get Daggett without blowin' it up," my brother reminded her. "Bane and Francis aren't just gonna open the door for 'em."

"There's another way out of that car," Malone informed us. "It's a trap door, right underneath the safe. Bane and Francis don't even know it's there."

"Then how do you – " I started to ask.

She just smiled. "Pinkerton," she replied.


	8. The Big Bang Theory

Chapter 8 – Bart's Story: The Big Bang Theory

So we sat there for a while, Bret, Agent Malone, and me, waiting to see what move the Daggett gang was gonna make next. The Blood Moon climbed higher in the sky and Brother Bret and me told Ginny all the Lakota tales of mystery, suspense and superstition we could think of about Wé Haŋwí. She listened, skeptically at first, then more and more interested as we spun out one tale after another. I even caught one or two of the gang payin' closer attention than they needed to.

The last one Bret told was 'The Tale of the Disappearing Train', one we'd heard when we were kids, and she seemed fascinated by that one in particular. "So they never found it anywhere?" she asked when he was finished.

"Nope. It disappeared lock, stock, and barrel. None a the crew or passengers ever turned up, either. Still think it's a bunch a old wives tales?"

"I think it's more than just some old bedtime story," she answered. "But there's gotta be an explanation somewhere."

"Ha! Don't tell the Lakota's that," I laughed.

Without a bit of warning the front door to the car opened and in walked the long 'missing' Mitch Threadway. He looked at Cafferty and nodded, and Cafferty smiled. Actually smiled. That was not a good sign.

Bret and Ginny saw it, too, and we all came to the same conclusion. "They're all set," my brother stated needlessly. "Anybody got an idea?"

Ginny and I both nodded at the same time. "You first," the Pinkerton agent graciously offered.

"Oh, no, ma'am," I told her. "Ladies first."

She nodded and explained her idea. We were thinkin' along the same lines, and I had one or two suggestions to add to her plan. Bret laughed and shook his head. "Don't look like ya need me for anything."

"Oh yes we do," Ginny said, and explained exactly where he was most needed. Now, just once, I was hoping that everything would go according to plan. There's a first time for everything, right?

The only thing we hadn't worked out was how to get out of the train car. Considering we had three Jones brothers and two Threadways to contend with, that wasn't going to be an easy task. And that's when the sounds started.

At first it seemed like the wind whistling, but that quickly turned into a much more animal-like sound. It was definitely howling of some kind, but unlike anything I'd heard from any type of dog or wolf. The longer it went on, the louder it got. And the more unearthly it sounded.

The Daggett gang appeared to be on the verge of executing their plan of robbery and mayhem when the disturbance became too much to ignore. First Victor, then Mitchell, followed by Neal, Jake and finally even Cafferty seemed to lose all interest in anything that wasn't howling related, and trailed outside, one after the other. It gave the impression of an almost Pied Piper attempt to discover the source of the uproar, and the three of us wasted no time in taking full advantage of their distraction. We escaped the railroad car that had been our prison-of-sorts for almost a full twenty-four hours and fled towards the real prison car.

I pounded on the side door of the car, much as I had the first time I'd visited, and yelled, "Bane! Francis! It's Bart Maverick and the other agents! Let us in!" I heard the familiar sound of the chains and the lock, and then the door being opened. The Winchester appeared, followed quickly by the helping hand I'd received the last time. Once I was up in the car we quickly got Ginny and Bret inside, then closed the door and replaced the chains and lock.

"Maverick. Agent Malone. And you must be the other Maverick," Bane greeted us as we tipped hats and shook hands. "What is that racket out there?"

"Don't know for sure, Bane, but it saved our hides," I answered. Bret and Ginny outlined the plan while Jim Francis joined us. "Daggett?" I asked him.

"All snug in his little corner," Francis told me. "What's this about a trap door?"

"I swear it's there, boys," Ginny promised.

"It better be," Bret declared as he walked over to the safe. We all followed.

"Look, there's the outer edges," Ginny pointed out, bending down to show us. She was right, it was definitely the outline of something that appeared to be a trap door. "Now all we have to do is move the safe."

"Sure," I laughed. "That shouldn't be too hard – how much do you figure that weighs?"

"A lot more than we wanna think about," Bane answered.

It was slow going, but we managed to move it a few inches. Ginny was right – it was our way out. If we could get the safe moved and the door opened before we all got blown to high heaven.

We'd been at it for a while and had managed to move it a little more than halfway when the howling outside finally stopped. Within minutes there was a pounding on the door and Cafferty's voice could be heard. He was nowehere near as loud as the noise had been. "Hey, you in there. Marshals. This is Cafferty Jones and we've got you surrounded. Open the door and come on out and we won't kill ya. That goes for you too, gamblers or whatever the hell y'all are. C'mon out, little lady, we won't hurt you. If ya don't wanna come out it ain't gonna go well for ya. You got five minutes to decide."

"Ginny, can you open the safe?" Bret asked suddenly.

"Well, yeah, sure," she answered, sounding more than a bit hesitant.

"Keep workin', boys. Maybe I can buy our way out."

Bane, Francis and I kept pushin' and tuggin' on the dang thing, and we got it moved some more. Just a few more inches and the trap door would be in the clear. Ginny even got in there with us and tried to help. She wasn't as strong as Bret, but we kept at it. When Cafferty's five minutes was almost up he hollered again.

"Times up, fellas. Nobody in there wanna live?"

"Cafferty, it's the gamblers brother. How about doin' a little bargainin'?"

"You got a name, gamblers brother?"

"Maverick."

"Alright, Maverick, whatta ya got?"

"We'll give ya all the money that's in the safe."

"That's a good one. How ya gonna get it out?"

"Never mind how we do it. That's our problem. Deal?"

Cafferty turned away from the door and said something to the rest of the group. In a few minutes he turned back and called out, "Sorry, no deal. We need Charlie."

"Not gonna happen, Cafferty. Take what you can get and go on your way."

With one last push we got the safe off the trap door. I pulled the door open and it was so dark that we couldn't see what loomed before us. It had to be the ground. "I'll get Daggett," Francis said, and left to fetch our prized possession.

"Get the safe open, Ginny," Bret instructed, and Ginny went to work. In just a minute she had it unlocked and the payrolls were in Bane's hands.

"Get outta here," I told Bain. "And take Malone with you. They're gonna blow this car up."

Ginny turned to look at Bret, over by the door. "Bret – "

"Go," Bret told her, and she slipped out under the train car.

"Come on down, Bain," she called up quietly, and the man with the Winchester followed her out.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," Daggett growled, and Francis didn't waste any time. He hit the prisoner across the back of the skull with the butt end of his gun and Daggett went down, halfway out the trap door.

"A little help," Jim called down to Bain, and Charlie Daggett's unconscious body quickly disappeared.

Bret and I looked at each other. "Go on, get out," Bret ordered me, and I shook my head.

"Not without you," I told my brother.

"Maverick, you still there?"

"Yep," Bret answered Cafferty, then turned back to me. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

I believed him. I know my brother well enough to be positive he has no death wish. I crawled out through the trap door and hit the ground running, following Malone, Bain and Fisher (carrying Daggett's body between them) across the field that was lit up by the dull red light from the Blood Moon. I ran as fast as I could across the dark earth before I turned around to see how far behind me Bret was. That's when I stopped dead in my tracks and got ready to go back, because there was no sign of him. And in that brief moment of hesitation the whole car exploded, scattering pieces of train and wreckage everywhere. The earth shook, the air turned thick and black, and I hit the ground hard, all the way down screaming "BRET!" at the top of my lungs. Until my head slammed into the dirt full force and I heard and saw nothing more.


	9. A Pair of Jokers

Chapter 9 – Bret's Story: A Pair of Jokers

I guess I never realized how many Lakota tales we knew about the Blood Moon until we started tellin' 'em all to Malone. I could see the disbelief in her eyes at the beginning, but it sure wasn't there when I finished with the tale about the disappearin' train. That one was told to us by Pappy many, many years ago.

We finally put our heads together and came up with a plan – rather, Ginny an Bart came up with a plan. I didn't have much to offer in the way of an idea, but they seemed to have everything just about worked out except the part about gettin' us outta the car we'd been in all day. An that's when the Lakota's and the Blood Moon stepped in.

How else do you explain a noise that starts out whistlin' like the wind an ends up howlin' louder than a big old gray wolf on a nighttime hunt? Wasn't no cause or reason for a sound like that, 'cept to give us a way outta that railroad car. An that's just what it did when the Daggett gang just kinda wandered out into the dark night to try an find out what the sound was an where it was comin' from. You know we were outta there as fast as we could be, and went scootin' straight back to the Marshal's car. Bart got us in and introduced us to Bane and Francis.

Malone was right, there was some kind of a door under the safe. It took all four of us to get it moved, and somewhere along the way of doin' that the howlin' stopped outside. Next thing I know Cafferty's outside yellin' about lettin' us live if we'll just turn over the money an Daggett. Yeah, like he was really gonna do that. Let us live, I mean. I thought maybe we could buy our way outta the whole thing, but I shoulda known better. It was all or nothin' with Cafferty and the bunch.

Ginny got the safe opened and they all got out while I was tryin' to convince Cafferty to take the deal I was offerin'. All except Bart, and he wasn't gonna go until I went. I told him to get the hell out, I'd be right behind him, and then rattled the chain around the door lock to make it sound like I was goin' to open the door. I got outta the trap door fast as I could but I knew there wasn't time to get far enough away before the dynamite blew up the car. I took the best shot I had at stayin' alive an slid underneath the rail car behind the one we'd been in with maybe a second or two to spare. The blast, when it came, was loud and painful.

I got hit in the face with a piece of some kinda debris and don't remember anything for a while. When I finally came to the air was full of smoke and burning flesh, and I was hoping the smell wasn't from me. My head hurt somethin' awful and I could taste blood in my mouth, but I was breathin' an that's what counts. I lay there for a few minutes tryin' to see just how bad off I was before comin' to the conclusion that nothin' hurt too much. I listened to the night sounds to make sure I didn't hear anybody around me and then tried scootin' back out from under the car. I heard a 'rip' as I did so and knew I'd ruined another coat. Oh, well. Better the coat than the body.

There was no one on my side of the train, and no bodies close enough for me to see. I got to my feet gingerly and felt a sharp pain in my right ankle, but I didn't think it was broken. I tried to hobble around to the other side of the car and as soon as I did the carnage became evident. The smell of flesh was strong here, and there were several mounds of something that used to be people scattered through the surrounding field. I couldn't stand the smell, it brought back too many memories of the war. Neither could my insides, which were soon protestin' my continued occupation of the area by the only way they knew how – I was back on the ground on my knees vomiting. That seemingly done for the moment, I staggered back to my feet and headed for what I thought was the same direction Bart and the others had run. I got about twenty or thirty feet away from the wreckage when my legs wouldn't carry me any further and I stumbled and fell. For some reason unknown to me, Ginny was close and I heard her yell, "Bret!" as I went down. At least I think it was her yellin'.

I musta passed out again, and when I came to the second time everything that I could see – which wasn't much in the darkness, gloom and smoke – was fuzzy. I heard Ginny again callin' my name, and this time I was sure it was her voice. Then I heard Bart tell her to wipe the blood off my face. He was there, but not as close as she was. Her touch was a lot gentler than I expected it to be, but when she wiped my right eye there was a whole lotta pain and I yelped.

"That's good, he's alive," I heard Bart say, and there was relief in his voice. Then he went quiet and Ginny moved away from me, and I could hear her talkin' to my brother. Only problem is he wasn't answerin' her. I couldn't have been that far away from him, but I couldn't see much of anything out of that right eye. I tried to sit up and didn't have much luck with that either. I don't know how much time passed before Ginny was back next to me and I tried to open my eyes again and see her, but I got nowhere with that. "Why is it so dark?" I asked, and got no answer, so I tried a different question. "How's Bart?"

"He'll be fine," a man's voice answered.

It sounded like Bane, so I asked. "Bane?"

"Yeah, Maverick, it's me. Thanks for gettin' us outta there." There was a brief pause, then Bane asked, "You wanna try gettin' up again?"

"Yeah," I told him, and could see enough to spot the hand he was offerin' me.

"Careful, Bret," I heard Ginny say, "there's pieces of train everywhere." This time I got to my feet, with Bane's help. She directed her question to the man that had just pulled me up. "Can you carry Bart? I can help Bret."

"No problem," Bane answered her, and I finally got a good look at Agent Malone. Dirty an dusty, but she seemed uninjured.

"You alright?" I asked her.

"I'm fine, she said to the man with blood all over his face."

"Is that what's goin' on?" I questioned her. "What's wrong with Bart?"

"I can't keep him awake," she told me.

"Francis an Daggett?"

"Already went back to our car."

"And the gang?"

That didn't take much explanation. "Dead, far as I can tell." She grabbed my hand and led me back to the railroad car. "Watch out for the steps," she told me, and I could see just well enough to make it inside. It looked like Daggett was cuffed over one of the seats and Francis had a gun trained on him. Bane had set Bart down across one a the other seats, and I half walked, half stumbled over to my brother who was, at this moment, awake.

"You alright?" I questioned.

He raised his head to look at me. "Better than you, from the look of things," he babbled, and closed his eyes again.

I glanced at Malone, who was standing next to me with a wet cloth in her hands. "Is that for me?"

"Yes," she answered. "I know this is gonna hurt, but you need to let me get you cleaned up. I don't know how you can see anything."

"I can't. Haven't you noticed?" When she didn't answer, I asked her, "Does it look that bad?"

"Yes," came her answer again, and I believed her as she started wiping my face. I still didn't know what I'd gotten hit with, or what kind of damage it'd done, but everything she touched hurt. Especially on the right side where my eye was. "Your coat's ripped," was the next thing she told me.

"I'm not surprised. Did you see where I was?"

"Under the next car? I saw. Why didn't you get out sooner? Trying to keep our friends in the blast area?"

"See, you figured me out. You don't look real happy right now." That was an understatement. She was givin' me one a those 'that wasn't a good idea' looks.

"I don't like the way this gash above your eye looks."

I grabbed her hand and pulled it away from my face. "I'll be fine. Go see what you can do for Bart."

She twisted my grip loose and resumed her clean-up. "Sit still. He's out again, anyway."

I sighed. "That's the problem," I told her. "He needs to be kept awake."

"Concussions?"

"Too many to count," I explained.

"Alright, hold this right here until I come back. And I'm serious. If I look over and your hand is gone – "

"Yes, mother," I answered her and chuckled. Ginny went over and tried to rouse my brother, who responded kinda slowly to her gentleness. "Shake him," I told her, and she did, finally.

"Awake, awake, awake," Bart mumbled.

"Make him sit up," I advised Ginny, and she tried. He was uncooperative, to say the least. "Alright, son, it's time to get up," I told him, ignoring Malone's warnin' and bendin' down to sit him up straight. That was a bad move on my part, as my almost instant dizziness attested to. I let go of my brother and he stayed upright, which is somethin' I didn't do. The next thing I saw was Malone's face lookin' down at me.

"See what happens when you ignore me?" she asked.

"Just help me up, would ya?" She did and then pushed me back into the seat right next to Bart. "We make some pair, don't we?"

"Yes," she answered, shaking her head. "You two make some pair."


	10. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Chapter 10 –Bart's Story: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

There was noise, but it wasn't the howlin' we'd listened to for what seemed like hours. It took more than a few minutes to realize it was a female voice, accompanied by a female hand shakin' me, that kept callin' "Bart." It had to be Ginny. I opened my eyes but the first thing I saw was Brother Bret, sittin' right next to me. We were back in the train car we'd spent the previous day in, and I didn't feel near as good as I had the last time I was here. But I felt a darned sight better than Bret looked.

"What happened?" I asked at last, when it became apparent nobody was gonna tell me anything unless I questioned them. I got a long winded story from Francis and Malone, filling me in on everything I'd missed after hitting the ground when the dynamite went off and the railroad car exploded.

"You three saved our lives, that's for sure," Jim Francis added. He was standing right behind Ginny Malone, who'd finally come into focus in front of me. I turned my head slowly to look at Bret, and even through all the blood and bruising, he grinned at me.

"You look like Pappy took out a losing streak on your face," I told him. "How'd you get out? Last thing I remember, you were supposed to be right behind me – and you weren't."

"He stayed at the party too long," Ginny answered for him.

"Is that what yer callin' it? He's still bleedin', ya know."

"I can see that," she replied. "Hold this, Bret, and press on it," she instructed him as she raised the wet handkerchief to his forehead.

"For how long?" he asked.

"Until it stops bleedin'," Ginny told him. I started to close my eyes again and I got a Maverick elbow in the ribs.

"What?" I asked.

"Stay awake," my brother told me.

Bane came back into the car and announced, "The engine's workin' again. Looks like we're gonna make it to Denver after all." He looked across the car at Daggett. "So much for your crew gettin' you out, Charlie."

"They dead?" the convicted man asked.

"Every blasted one of 'em," Francis answered. "Checked it out myself." Daggett grunted and said not another word.

"Engineer know what was wrong?" Bret questioned.

"Nope," Bane answered. "Has no idea. Engine came back to life after the explosion. They got everybody outta the last car and unhooked it. They'll send a crew down from Denver to clear the tracks. Glad that ain't my job."

"That makes two of us," I said.

Francis slapped me on the back. "Good job, you two. You sure saved somebody a lotta money."

Bret grinned again, but all I could think about was what would happen when we got into Denver and nobody knew who the Maverick brothers worked for. Then something occurred to me. "Hey Bane, is the Blood Moon still out in the sky?"

Bane walked to the front of the car and opened the door, going so far as to step out into what was left of the night and search the sky. "Don't see it anywhere," he answered, turning back towards me.

"Thanks."

XXXXXXXX

The Lakota gods smiled. They were pleased. They had at last repaid the white man named Bart Maverick for the kindness he had shown Kimimela and the good deed he performed for the Lakota people in South Dakota when he gave the tribe back the land that was rightfully theirs. Their job completed, they allowed everything to go back to normal, at least in the white man's world.

TBC


	11. Next Stop - St Louis?

Chapter 11 – Ginny's Story: Next Stop – St. Louis?

Almost a week later I was sitting in my boss's office at Pinkerton trying to explain the Maverick brothers. That was no easy task. Arthur kept looking at me like I really had gone off the deep end this time. And in a way, I guess I had.

"I thought they were Federal Marshals," I explained for about the fourth time.

"And they're not, correct?" Arthur raised his eyebrows again, even higher this time. I hate it when he does that.

"No, Arthur, they're not."

"Not Sheriffs, Rangers, or lawmen of any kind?"

"No, Arthur." He'd asked the same questions so many times that I could almost recite them verbatim. Now all I had to do was wait to see just how he was going to tell me I was fired.

"Good. That means they're eligible for the reward."

"Yes, they're – wait a minute. What reward?"

Arthur smirked at me, at last. "The five-thousand dollar reward for the capture or death of the Jones Brothers and the Threadways."

"Why did you take so long to get to that part?"

"I needed to make sure."

"So - I'm not fired?" I asked him, almost afraid to breathe.

"Of course not, Malone. Why would I fire my best agent?"

"But I assumed . . . . . . " I waited to see what he'd have to say next.

Arthur Stansbury was not one to hand out compliments willy-nilly, so when he called me his best agent I believed that's what the man thought. The next question surprised the devil out of me. "Think you can get them to work for us?"

"Uh . . . . . I don't think so." Was Arthur really serious?

"What do they do for a living?"

I almost told him what Bret had explained to me. "As little as humanly possible." Instead I blurted out, "They're gamblers."

"Cardsharps?"

I shook my head. "Con men and cheats, you mean, don't you? No, they're honest poker players."

His expression had changed to one of skepticism. "Are they any good?"

I'd done my research in the past few days. "Some of the very best, from what I've heard."

"That would be the perfect cover, you know."

"I'm not sure there's enough money in the world to persuade them to work for us." The look on Arthur's face turned dark. "I don't mean Pinkerton. I mean WORK."

"Ah." It had never occurred to him that someone might not want to work for a living. "Even if I could double the reward money?"

"Ten thousand dollars?"

"Ten thousand dollars. For their help with a problem we have in St. Louis."

"I – I can ask," I stuttered.

"Do that, would you? Oh, and you'd be with them, Malone. Matter of fact, the plan would be for you to pose as one of their wives. They're not married, are they?"

"Uh . . . no. I don't think so."

"Well, see, that's ideal. It could take as long as a month to resolve. If it lasts that long, I could go to fifteen thousand."

"Arthur, where is that kind of money coming from?"

"There's a wealthy businessman in St. Louis that's having a problem with his employees gambling away their wages in illegal gaming rooms. He's afraid that one of them will get deeply into debt and sell his prized secret formulas out from under him. He's trying to build a beer empire. His name's Adolphus Busch, and he's attempting to get Pinkerton to take the case."

"Really."

"Would I lie to you, Malone? If you can talk them into it, there'd be a handsome bonus in it for you. And a wardrobe allowance, of course."

"Wardrobe allowance?" That was unheard of at Pinkerton.

"Yes, of course. You'd have to go in there dressed like a wealthy lady. Not your usual get-up."

My usual what? Still, that was a whole lot of money. And it would give me a chance to get to know Bret better. There was something there . . . . . he was tall, dark, and handsome, that's for sure. But there was something underneath all that. A sense of sadness, melancholy almost. And a sneakily creative mind.

And Bart. I dare anyone not to fall in love with Bart Maverick. Funny, bright, a real knight-in-shining-armor type. And every bit as good-looking as his brother in a lighter sort of way. I could play wife to either of them and be happy. All I had to do . . . was convince them. Well, it was worth a shot.

When I left Arthur's office I was humming to myself. I hadn't done that in ages. I was hoping I could talk them into going to St. Louis, all expenses paid, and work on this case for Mr. Busch. And Arthur. And me.

I made my way to the Denver Palace Hotel. Bart told me they always stayed there when in Denver, and I believed him. Practically every employee the hotel had knew them and their preferences. Bret drank nothing but black coffee; Bart had an occasional glass of wine with dinner. Bret could out-eat almost any man I'd ever met; Bart's appetite was about the same as mine. They were both fastidiously dressed and always clean and well-groomed; that meant an unheard of amount of baths drawn for the two of them. And every single employee at the hotel acted like they were truly thrilled to do anything the Maverick boys asked.

Bret hadn't been playing a lot of poker recently. The cut over his right eye was irritating and bothersome and caused him to need a patch over the eye for a few days, and he complained of feeling 'half-blind.' He was stiff and sore for the first four days after our arrival; being as close to the explosion as he was had taken its toll and he was genuinely uncomfortable for a while.

Bart seemed less damaged; other than a headache that didn't want to leave him for too long at a time, he acted like nothing was bothering him. Besides watching his brother suffer, that is. I made my way up to their room and knocked; there was no answer and I knocked again. "Minute" I heard in Bret's voice. It sounded like he'd been asleep. Where was his brother?

Bret cracked the door open and a smile spread across his face when he saw it was me. "Ginny, come on in, honey."

"'I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be in bed. Where's Bart?"

"Went downstairs for coffee. He's restless, lookin' for somethin' to do more excitin' than sit and watch me sleep. What's up?"

So we sat down at the table by the window and I explained my morning to him. By the time I got to the part about the ten thousand dollars he looked excited. Well, excited for Bret.

"St. Louis, huh? I haven't been there for quite a while. Let's see what kind of a reaction we get from my brother."

We sat and talked for almost an hour before the door opened and sunshine entered the room. "Hey, Beauty! What're you doin' here?" Why he'd taken to calling me Beauty I don't know, but that had become Bart's new name for me.

"The woman comes bearin' the promise of riches, Brother Bart," Bret told him, readjusting his eye patch. "Give it a listen and see what you think."

So I explained the whole thing again. Bart's eyes got bright when I told him about the reward; he positively lit up when I outlined Arthur's proposed plan. "What does it involve?" he asked, wanting to hear more. I kept right on talking until I'd told them everything I knew.

"What's this Stansbury fella like?" Bret asked.

"Arthur is . . . . . not quite like anybody else I've ever met. Opinionated, prickly, difficult to deal with if he doesn't like you, acerbic, and overbearing. And he'd die defending you if you're one of his people."

Bret looked at Bart. "Sounds like Pappy."

Bart looked back at his brother. "Don't it, though?"

"When do we leave?" Bret asked.

"And whose wife are you gonna be?" Bart finished.

Why do I think I'm gonna have my hands full?

Th End


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